The Fountain of Blessings
by lemonluden
Summary: Shacklebolt is after a lost magical object. McGonagall is trying to restore the Hogwarts community. Hermione returns for her final year, desperate to move on from the trauma of war. However, a mysterious accident occurs and the girl loses her memory. As Minerva begins an investigation, Kingsley tries to recruit Hermione for a ludicrous trip to the past. [Bellamione]
1. Chapter 1: Introduction

The Fountain of Blessings

Introduction

(Song of the day: Lisa Hannigan – You Haunt Me)

* * *

><p>The water was flowing freely. It had a special color to it, a bright sparkle that lifted the spirits of anyone who saw it, a special sound, a special feel. The song of the water as it fell felt like a thousand children laughing the purest of laughs. Even this dark place, hidden in the secretmost corners of the Ministry seemed full of life.<p>

Shacklebolt was not pleased. The Fountain of Blessings was just a mere hint of the splendor it once possessed.

Which is exactly the matter that had brought him to Minerva McGonagall's office. He was pacing nervously, finding himself at his wits end in order to describe his plan. The Headmistress was not having it. It being this ridiculous proposition.

"We need to find Elrich's Pendant of Embers and restore the powers of the Fountain," Kingsley pressed.

"Its powers are mostly mythological rumors," Minerva kept her tone calm. "And even if they were real, a search should be carried in our timeline. It makes no sense to risk so much for the sake of… what, really?"

The Minister had already tasked two Aurors with the search. It had been future. Kingsley was only eager to remind the witch of all the legends around the Fountain of Blessings. It could bring peace and joy to any land and those were much needed after the war. But for it to work properly, a number of ancient charms and objects had to be set in place. Elrich's Pendant had been missing. With the war, people had forgotten about it. And that is why Shacklebot had just proposed to send someone back in the past and try to trace the item.

"You know better than to meddle with time, Kingsley." The Headmistress' patience was being challenged. "And the risks are simply not justified. We have no factual confirmation that the Fountain ever served the purpose you so desperately desire. I find better means to the end you seek. Focus on the Ministry, eradicate the corruption, fix the laws. Help lift people's morale from where you are standing. Magic cannot fix what kindness can."

The two quarreled back and forth. Kingsley wasn't successful in persuading the Headmistress but she did offer some to do some research for him. It was to be kept a secret, of course. He left and Minerva was left to ponder her options. A sigh, a tired sigh of far too many painful years, drew from her mouth. She took the quill on her desk and started writing. There was only one student she could rely on and she needed discretion for the matter at hand. The other professors were far too preoccupied with their duties. Minerva had tasked them with a lot. She wanted her students to come closer together, she wanted the school to thrive once more. A lot of wounds had to be healed. A lot of new beginnings had to be started. The Headmistress poured herself another cup of tea. How would Hermione take to this?

* * *

><p>It was another regular start of the day at the highest tippetty top of the Gryffindor Tower. Hermione woke up from the sound of her own screams, her forehead covered in cold sweat, body still trembling. Even the privacy of this secluded room afforded to her by the thoughtfulness of Professor McGonagall was not enough. She had put silencing charms after the second morning this school year and for now that seemed to be the adequate solution. No one from the shared bedrooms some feet under her chamber had spoken about hearing anything. It was safe to assume the dreams that haunted her every night were her own private affair.<p>

The witch covered her face in the palms of her hands, pressed it against them and released a pained breath she didn't know she was holding. Then again that was true for a lot of things these days. Hermione couldn't begin to grasp the hurt that was residing within her, things that she couldn't express but couldn't forget either. Those were real terrors, not the slips of nightmares, memories that could not be erased, that would follow her for years. They had won the war. But what was to happen next? Who was going to live life? Repair it? And how do you even get up and go about it after you have spent countless months hiding, living in secret, fearing for your life and safety and for those of everyone you have ever loved?

Hermione stood, her bare feet touched the floor and she treaded lightly up to the huge windows. The sun had not yet risen but a glimpse of light could barely be traced in between the trees of the Forbidden Forest. It was probably around 6 am which meant she had slept a little longer than usual. The young woman decided to count that as a small improvement. She leaned against the metal frame of the glass, needing to feel its cold, needing to feel anything that could assure her of reality. Of this world, different from the shadows chasing her in her dreams, different from the fingers pulling her in deep, dark waters, different from the screams and tortured faces that refused to leave her. Her reflection stared back at her, hollowed.

The student didn't allow herself more time to dwindle on her feelings because she was just that at this moment, a student. A student with responsibilities and a schedule to keep. She quickly took a shower and readied herself. It was a habit now, a remnant from the war days when they were searching for the horcruxes, but Hermione now always wore jeans and a comfortable blouse along with a pair of running shoes underneath her black and red Gryffindor robes. As if something could happen any moment and she needed to be ready, ready to run, ready to hide, to take action, she simply had to be prepared.

What day was it today? Her brows raised in a moment of thought. Tuesday. She put a few books and pieces of parchment in her enchanted bag which swallowed the items easily, not changing in size or weight. She had used the same bag to carry tents and clothes and other necessities when she was on the run with Harry and Ron. Now she just had books for her classes to throw in there. But the item, like seemingly everything around her, bore the reminder of what had transpired not so very long ago.

Her first stop, still hours before breakfast would be served, was the Owlery. She made it a point to send a brief note to her friends once every week or two, even if nothing had happened, even if she had nothing to say. Ron had helped George with starting up the Joke Shop and that business had went fairly well. George seemed to have accepted the loss of his twin and mostly had been managing on his own these day. Things were busy for him and as much as Hermione could figure, busy was good. Busy meant less time to think and feel sorry for yourself. It worked that way for her and she hoped it would be similar for George. Ron had joined Harry now, both boys were in the middle of Auror training. It was funny to look back now, at those few stolen kisses, desperate embraces and foolish searches for love in a time that offered nothing but fear. Ultimately, they had decided to remain friends and not push for more. Hermione needed peace which she was hoping to find at Hogwarts. Ron needed to forget, needed to find his own balance and for now that was on the track to becoming an Auror. It appeared that Ginny was the only one who had witnessed all of the horrors and battles and had kept her passion and love still burning bright. The youngest Weasley had annoyed McGonagall to the point where the Headmistress simply had to allow Ginny to leave Hogwarts practically every weekend to see Harry. They had some exceptions when their schedules conflicted but the fire-headed woman was determined to protect her relationship. Harry seemed as eager, although it was evident he too was haunted by far too many memories of loss and pain.

As owls were nocturnal creatures, the crack of morning was the last chance anyone could get to send a letter without pestering the birds. Sometimes the Hogwarts messengers would simply refuse to fly out and deliver. Other times they would claw and eat the paper. Personal owls were pets and shared special bonds with their owners but the ones for public use could be far more virulent. Hermione had learned to respect them, to bring them treats and clean their feathers and to always, always send her postage in the appropriate hours. No surprise, then, that the birds would chirp happily at the sight of the girl. It no longer seemed odd to the student that she found better company here, with more understanding and compassion than in the presence of her fellow classmates. She sent a brief note to Molly thanking her for the bubbling chocolate fudge cake recipe she had sent, another to George informing him she had discovered a bizarre metallic statue on the 3rd floor that she had never seen before, and a few quick notes to Harry and Ron wishing them well. She kissed the top of the head of the large brown owl that had taken the last letter and the bird cooed back in a gentle response. As the letter-bearer spread his wings and took to the skies, the witch was oddly reminded of the pleasant purrs her beloved Crookshanks would often use to express his affection. What had happened to the cat she did not know. As far as she could guess, he was still somewhere in Australia with her parents whose memory she had wiped clean more than a year ago.

There wasn't a day to pass without Hermione thinking of her parents. She loved them dearly, more than she cherished her very life, but for each year spent at Hogwarts a gap between them would widen. The world she lived in was a foreign matter to them, a world of strange tales and fairies. And with the progression of the war, the Obliviate spell was the sole reasonable choice available to Hermione that would ensure their safety. She had searched for them after the war, finding newspapers and records online showing they had opened a new dental clinic. They seemed happy and untroubled. Two things Hermione was not. And until all of the Dark Wizards had been captured, until all the rumored former Death Eaters were investigated and accounted for, it sounded like an illogical risk to remind the Grangers of a life they once had, a life full of worries for a daughter who would never return to the world they occupied.

Hermione would look deep into her heart each day and wonder if there would ever be a time when she would reverse the Obliviate. No, she would decide, not until she finished Hogwarts, not until she finally finds the security of her own house and job. And then? Would it be worth it? Such questions dwelled in the back of her mind next to the nightmares that occupied her evenings, both constant presences, never leaving her.

Hermione advanced down the moving stairs, on her way to the library with hopes of perusing some literature before the Great Hall would open its doors. Nearly Headless Nick floated graciously above the hallway.

"Morning, mademoiselle Granger. How does the light of day find you today?"

There was something very amicable in the ghost's tone which easily made Hermione smile every time the two bumped paths.

"Good day to you, sir Nicholas. It's getting rather cold rather quickly this fall, isn't it?"

Years ago the witch had found out what great pleasure the Nicholas felt from a formal address and the small courtesy of stopping for a chat. Calling him sir yet again, today, as always, earned her an elegant bow.

"The weather hasn't bothered me in centuries!" Nicholas giggled almost childishly in response. "You, dear, should get the scarves ready."

Before Hermione could answer, Ruffles, one of the house elves appeared.

"Miss Granger," the small purple-bodied elf interrupted "if you would be kind enough to pardon Ruffles and follow him to Madam the Headmistress' office."

"Ah, till another time, then, dear friend." Sir Nicholas winked and floated way calmly.

The seventh-year waved and was quick to follow the house elf who was already practically running down the corridor. Ruffles, like most of Hogwarts servants, frequently made use of many unknown passages to students. He walked through a wall covered by what seemed to be an ancient Persian carpet with no hesitation whatsoever. It took a second for the girl behind him to realize it was under a spell, much like the entrance at Plaform Nine and Three-Quarters. Hermione stepped into the carpet only to find a narrow staircase. Ruffles was humming something akin to "Ah, yes, yes, here is the young miss" under his nose, looking back but not stopping. Soon the student caught up to the eager house elf. Three doors were closed in front of them at the end of the stairs. The leftmost was covered in green ivy and some other plants that appeared foreign, the middle one was half frozen by ice, half burning in flames, and the third door was protected by the dripping of water down its wooden frame.

"Where the water flows, the honest wizards go" chanted Ruffles and turned the doorknob on the door at the far right.

Hermione felt something swinging to the side abruptly, to reveal the familiar sight of Minerva McGonaggall's office. The former transfiguration professor had changed a lot of things around the rooms Albus Dumbledore once occupied but Hermione had been here many times since the rearrangement. She knew this place well, yet…

"Only the house elves use this entrance, Hermione. I thought it might be prudent for you to be aware of its existence as well." Minerva called out. "Care for tea?"

"Thank you, please." The girl smiled effortlessly. "But let me help, here."

The two witches often met throughout the weeks. While McGonagall had stepped down from teaching in order to focus on Hogwarts and greater issues, she spared about two or three hours privately tutoring her favorite student. The Headmistress made no attempts to hide that preference any longer.

Their encounters were welcome solaces for Hermione as well. She had someone to fully trust and confide in, someone who understood her but still challenged her and wanted her to keep improving and learning. Minerva was perhaps the only one at Hogwarts who looked at Hermione without pity, fear, admiration or wonder. Her professor knew and treated her as a human being, as a student and young person who had a whole life ahead.

"I have some news, Hermione." The Headmistress began looking for a parchment amongst all the paperwork that had clogged her desk. "The Ministry has considered the request numerous students like yourself have made concerning the NEWTs examinations and have agreed to organize two sessions this year. Considering they were lenient and changed the Auror training requirements, I was already expecting this." Minerva adjusted her half moon glasses and continued. "The first session will unfortunately arrive very shortly, leaving the school with not too long to prepare…"

"When is it, Professor?"

"Next week."

"Next week as in Monday?"

"Yes, indeed. The Ministry is hoping that enough students will have sufficient marks and elect to start working immediately, rather than spend the year at Hogwarts. They have also made a dire change to rules… Those who attend the first session will have the opportunity to also attend the second one at the end of the year and better their grades, should they score higher."

"But isn't that a good thing?" Hermione wondered out loud just as realization hit her. "You are worried most students will leave and there will only be a handful of us to complete the entire year."

Minerva only smiled in a response. A brief silence occupied the room.

"It is not necessarily bad. It would certainly alter the student dynamic. But it is a solution for this year and a response to all that has transpired before. Perhaps it will leave everyone with more time to rebuild our community, to retailor classes and projects, to pick up the annual Quidditch House Cup…"

"You know you can count on me to stay and help in any way possible, Professor."

"I was hoping you would say that, Hermione. Nevertheless… while I will need to rely on the assistance of those I trust, like yourself, you are still a student here. You have been tasked beyond what any expectation could have been these years. No, these will not be your worries. I might ask you to aid in a small matter once in a blue moon but by and large… no. Instead, I do have a proposition for you. You are always welcome to reconsider, but if you decide to stay I have drafted a special curriculum for you."

Minerva handed the young woman opposite her the parchment. Under each subject appeared a dash and the words "one on one tutoring" followed by the names of books Hermione knew were deeply hidden in the restricted section. Some she was not even sure Hogwarts possessed but had heard collectors of the rarest tomes held…

"Professor, this is a great honor, but…"

"Hermione, you are a remarkable student. Each professor I have spoken to was excited to help further your studies. The traditional course of a 7th year is something we both know you have mastered a long time ago."

"I am beyond flattered, Professor, but even so. I doubt I could afford, yet alone find some of these books."

The Headmistress cast a knowing look, something deeper resided in her eyes that Hermione had only seen in Dumbledore's gaze before.

"My personal collection can be of use. Albus entrusted me with a lot of his affairs and possessions as well. Ruffles can bring those to your room later today. I have contacted a few willing benefactors, too. There is no cost for you to concern yourself with. Just an open mind willing to start next Tuesday."

Hermione felt her being overcome by joy and gratitude. The young woman leaped from her chair and jumped beside her professor, embracing the woman tightly in a thanks she could not put in words. Minerva was only happy to witness such light on Hermione's face.

"Dear girl," the professor laughed, "two small matters remain."

Hermione's face covered in a shy pink, realizing the outburst of her feelings over a few books.

"Yes, Professor, certainly."

"Well, the first is about those NEWTs… I will announce at breakfast that this week will be intensely tailored to preparation for the tests. I was hoping you could help set up study groups to be carried outside of classes for those who feel need additional practical and theoretical assistance."

"That would entirely be my pleasure," the girl spoke truthfully.

"Wonderful and much appreciated." Minerva paused. "The other matter at hand is a personal favor… The Ministry has asked me to look into the disappearance of a particular magical object. I have started some research but would be thankful for a sounding board to test some hypotheses. Could you drop by my office same time next week? We can also fix your new schedule at the meeting as well."

"Professor McGonagall, I am happy to help you with whatever I can."

Hermione left through the normal exit, smiling even at the dragon statue that guarded the Headmistress' chambers.

Minerva McGonagall sighed once more. Her heart ached for the girl who had given up so much of her own life and still had the ability to feel the simplest of joy over the chance to learn more about the world around her. Her heart ached for all her students too. There was much work to be done. This was not going to be an easy year.


	2. Chapter 2: Incendiary

The Fountain of Blessings

Chapter 2: Incendiary

Song of the day: Laura Marling – Your Only Doll

* * *

><p>The screams reverberated across the dormitory. It had been hours now but McGonagall could still hear them, present and seemingly alive. Gryffindors were in shock. Of course they were in shock. The Headmistress had managed to make all of the students who had heard or witnessed anything promise to keep it to themselves. This whole situation was bizarre. Minerva already separated anyone who was near the tower from the others, she had diverted those who might know something from the flow of rumors everyone else began to spread. But the fact remained. Early Friday morning, Hermione Granger's room had been completely burned down and the girl was found covering in a corner, her hands damaged unrecognizably. Her once lusciously flowing hair was mostly gone, her entire body was bruised, cut, and darkened by the color of blackest coals.<p>

The poor girl rested under Madam Pomfrey's diligent care. The nurse in charge had quickly sedated the girl and started caring for her wounds. The Matron was confident she would be able to heal most of the fresh scars on her body, to rejuvenate the damaged face and free it from the marks of what was obviously a violent assault.

"I'm not sure there is much that can be done for her hands, Minerva." The older witch spoke. "I believe I will be able to remedy a small part of this monstrous act, if she takes her potions, we can fight the pain, maybe even diminish it or cast it away entirely… Though I am not optimistic. Whoever did this wanted to make sure she could never use a wand again."

Minerva remained silent for a short moment. She knew she had no time to waste but she simply couldn't move. Hermione's body looked so small and fragile as it lay on the white sheets of this old bed. The whole Wing was empty and silent, only the wind scratching at the surface of the windows made its hollow, pitiful sounds. The Minister and the special examiners were already called. Maximum privacy was to be ensured but an investigation had to begin as promptly as possible. The students were asked to wait in empty classrooms and the fifth floor had been cleared for the purpose. As far as anyone else was concerned, students from other houses or faculty, nothing had happened. A lot of mysteries had to be accounted for in the events of the morning, nevertheless. Who had attacked Hermione? Why her? Was this planned, was she targeted, or was it just happenstance that her chamber burned down? And who had the means to do such a heinous act? There were no signs of forced entry from outside which only made matters more complicated. Could it have been a fellow Gryffindor? With what motive? Or did someone sneak through the Fat Lady? As these thoughts poured into Minerva's head, hitting her one after the other like a merciless flow of destructive ocean waves, she kept her eyes fixed on Hermione's tiny finger bones that were now bare, stripped from the skin which once protected them.

"Do everything you can, Poppy, and spare no resources." The Headmistress appeared halfway ready to break into tears any second, so the nurse quickly put a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"Everything I can, I will do. And then some more."

* * *

><p>"So no one came through the portrait other than Gyrffindor students." Shacklebolt repeated for the umpteenth time.<p>

"No, the Fat Lady herself confirmed it. We have already questioned her twice." Minerva was losing her wits. This man, Minister for Magic or not, was not helping.

"Well, let's go then, let's speak to the last students who are waiting."

No one was helpful. To the contrary, new questions continued to pop out at every turn.

"When did you last see Ms. Granger?" The Headmistress questioned the distracted blonde in front of her. Distracted but evidently distraught in her own way as well.

"Oh, I wonder if the nargles know… Good heavens. How could this happen to her, to Hermione of all people." Luna Lovegood talked in long, seemingly illogically linked sentences. And while this puzzled Shacklebolt, McGonagall was far more patient. "Yesterday, it must have been. Hermione was helping the Transfiguration group, for N.E.W.T.s." Luna hummed, and it was a sad and nervous tune.

"Did anything about her seem out of the norm?" The Minister pushed.

"Kind as a pennywhoople as usual, no." The girl answered immediately, fixing her eyes on the face of the man in front of her. "Attentive, caring. Transfigured a pot of flowers into a baby piglet which no one could catch and we all had a good fit of laughs…" The words fainted, dissipated into the air, as the girl gulped, swallowed her breath and put her arms around her. Her body folded in on itself, that's the way it seemed, so strong was the pain and worry across all of Luna's being. The Ravenclaw was weeping.

"Ms. Lovegood," McGonagall interjected quietly. "You are the only one who isn't a Gryffindor who knows about this. You were unlucky enough to spend the night in our Common Room's couch and… I am deeply sorry for the hurt this experience has brought you. I must urge you not to speak of this to anyone and keep matters quiet, until we understand what really occurred. It is of utmost importance not to worry anyone and keep Hogwarts students safe."

Luna nodded eagerly, a few tears still slipping down her face. The girl left the room after she composed herself but everyone present new it was only a mask that would dissipate.

Ginny Weasley was next. She neither faired, nor looked any better than Luna. Her red hair matched the redness of her swollen face.

"Ms. Weasley, tell us in your own words what you recall from last night and this morning." The Headmistress urged.

"Nothing out of the norm, Professor. Hermione and I had dinner in the Great Hall with everyone else, we went up to the library to pick some books. We were going to do some mock tests for the N.E.W.T. over the weekend…" Ginny paused, perhaps thinking of all those plans that were not going to come to fruition anymore. "We worked with Luna and eventually we were tired, made our way up and went to bed."

"Was there anything odd about Hermione or anyone around her that you have noticed recently?"

"No, no." The student easily supplied. "I mean, she's been tired and still getting used to being back here at Hogwarts, with the war and everything… We all have. But nothing odd, nothing strange."

"Tell us more about this morning." McGonagall pleaded, eager to refocus the conversation.

"I'm not sure what woke me up… Maybe it was the shouting or the smell of burned wood, very prominent in the air. As Prefect, I knew my job was to get all the girls up and out of danger's way which is why you found us all lined up in the hallway. I was trying to run back in the Common Room when you came and then…"

And then there was the horror of the emblazed tower.

"You did what you were supposed to do, and to the very best of your ability. Those girls are safe because of you, Ms. Weasley."

A few more words were exchanged, the same spiel about discretion, concern about Hermione's health, and so on. The words of people who wanted to understand something they couldn't, of people who wanted to alter the course of the present in ways they couldn't. It was simply out of their hands.

* * *

><p>Back in the Headmistresses office, the examiners summarized their findings. It was a huge gulp of nothing useful. No one had heard or seen anything other than the fire roaming in the early hours of the morning. The wizards were dismissed.<p>

"I have owled the Magical Repairs Office and someone will be here to give another look at the tower. If anything comes up, I will send it your way." McGonagall said, matter-of-factly. "We will start refurbishing and dealing with the damage immediately. The sooner it is taken care of, the better."

Shacklebolt was not entirely pleased. His officers had already collected and documented the entire chamber. He just wished the remains could be left as they were, for further investigation. But he knew his case was not a strong one. Hogwarts was a land of its own, the Ministry had fickle influence over what could transpire in the school.

"I am posting a senior Auror at Hogwarts, it is not up for the debate." The Minister pronounced with the highest level of authority he could muster.

"I'll have him placed in Hagrid's hut. There's a spare room. We can say he's an old friend. I don't want any student disturbed or needlessly worried and that's final, too." Minerva's words were far calmer than the Minister's and the man knew he would not be successful if he tried to push for more. He did anyway.

"If this was caused by the few remaining Death Eaters on the loose… Hogwarts is not prepared. And needs greater protection."

"If this was caused by the few remaining Death Eaters on the loose, Minister, the Magic world needs protection. Not the place that is home to the most talented teachers and the students who have already faced this evil."

The Minister was ready to counter, just as Madam Pomfry entered the room.

"The girl is awake."

* * *

><p>Minerva McGonagall was a mad woman. The frills on the ends of her dress bounced, ruffled, and almost seemed to whistle from pain from the seemingly never-ending quick punches with the cement of the stairs. The Headmistress was jumping over steps, leaping across the meters separating her from the Hospital Wing. Kingsley Shacklebolt was working up a remarkable sweat, barely managing to follow her tail. His head pulsed with the clamor of the woman's shoe soles, arguing vehemently with the surface beneath them. Madam Pomfry was inelegantly swearing somewhere far behind all of this ruckus, her shape now a mere trace of a figure that appeared to slowly move through space, incomparable to the ferocity of Minerva's speed.<p>

What was going through McGonagall's head the woman herself could not tell. Why was Hermione awake? Had the sedation potions not worked? Was she in pain? Had Pomfry managed to heal the scars? Had there been enough time for any of this? The person who could clarify the matters had been forgotten three staircases, two hallways, and one sharp left turn ago. There was a part of Minerva, the same part that planned lessons months in advance, underlined books, and took notes on the apparently tritest minuscule facts that popped in conversation, a methodical and logical creature within her that would not act this way. But this was her student. A Gryffindor. Never mind that. This was Hermione and she had failed to protect her in the very school Minerva now directed.

"Madam Headmistress –" a tall, lanky house elf who was set to guard the infirmary tried to speak but he was not given any heed. The Scottish witch rushed past him, not even sparing him a glance to notice how the poor creature blushed furiously and began bowing repeatedly.

"Hermione!" Minerva pronounced in between shout and whisper, something that twined the last shards of desolate hope with the renewed light of a plea, a prayer perhaps.

Those same brown eyes that for many years had been filled with curiosity in passion and the Transfiguration classroom turned to her but they were webbed with a mystery that chilled the Headmistress to her bones.

"Hermione, what happened?"

"The troll, Professor, it must have hit me in the head, everything hurts so much…" the girl coughed in pain, her body pulsing with hurt. Her face appeared unblemished, Pomfry had clearly managed to heal it rather promptly unlike her feeble hands, distorted and twisted like the claws of a harpy.

"A troll? There was a troll in the Gryffindor tower?" Incredulity spilled on McGonagall's features.

"No, Professor, I am so sorry… I was in the girl's bathroom, rather upset, and I noticed the mountain troll…"

This wasn't making any sense.

"Weren't you in your room this morning?"

"No, of course not, I was in Charms, we learned the Wingardium Leviosa spell, Professor Flitwick can confirm I was there… I was hurt by something another student said and that's why I didn't come to the Halowe'en feast… Oh, had I known!"

"Halowe'en? Surely, you don't mean –"

"Halowe'en of her first year, Minerva." Madam Pomfry interjected, still trying to catch her breath. "That's what I meant to tell you in your office. She can't remember anything beyond her first year, her memories do not go any further than the events of the last day of October that year."

McGonagall felt the world spin far too quickly and it all hollowed down to her mind, her last thoughts, before she fainted, were an angry, vicious roar against the world. "We had to save the world from the darkest of evil, but it wasn't enough."

* * *

><p>As often happens with magical affairs, the situation had become progressively more confusing with the passing of time. By the end of the day, Minerva had recuperated, and oddly, so had Hermione for the greater part. The student felt no pain, most of her scars were gone, except those that spanned across the length of her arms to her fingers. She had regained partial sensation in her palms but could not yet grasp or hold any object handed to her.<p>

Minister Shacklebolt was in a deep state of shock and Ruffles had taken him to the kitchen, were a whole family of house elves had taken to providing endless supplies of hot chocolate and warm food to the man, upon the orders of Madam Pomfry who seemed to be the only person to maintain her wits about her.

McGonagall managed to focus, for the sake of Hermione, and explain to her a lot of what had transpired. It was hard to believe for the girl that she had befriended both Harry and Ron, who had been nothing but hostile in her first days at Hogwarts. It was harder to comprehend that she was 18 years now, a whole 7 of her life missing, that she was a talented witch, and had endured, faced, and defeated the most horrid of dark magic. Granted, the former Transfiguration teacher spared her a great bit. Stories of werewolves, dementors, horcruxes, how Hermione was tortured, how she lived in hiding for a year, how many of her friends had died. There would be time for that, a later time. Minerva did not know if it was fair to recount everything, if this was a blessing in disguise, a chance to spare some of the pain, erase it forever, never speak of it, if it had not existed. Hermione deserved to know the honest facts, who she was, and what had happened. But perhaps not all of it. Perhaps even a small silence could help. These were big questions, to be decided later. For now, as the young Granger looked at herself, assured of her real age at the very least, the tears flowed freely.

And Hermione felt confused, and alone, cheated of any truth she thought she knew about herself.

"Hermione, no harm will come to you under my watch again, I promise." Minerva paused to peer into her student's eyes, to see if she believed her. "We still don't understand the magic under way here, what happened to you fully. We are doing our best and will do everything we can. Madam Pomfry will help you get some sleep tonight, and I'll check up on you first thing in the morning. We can talk some more then."

The Headmistress left soon after, and the Healer witch did indeed come. The warm brew of the potion the Gryffindor drank glided down her body and enveloped her entirely. She felt her limbs grown heavy, but somehow she was filled with peace and lightness at the same time.

Hermione caught a look of the Moon outside, drowning in a sky of rich, quiet dark blue. She thought about the pain in her body. She thought about the faint scar that read _Mudblood_ under the new, ruthless and deep cuts. She thought about Harry and Ron, the troll, and everything she had just heard. The more she pondered, the easier she realized the truth, a truth. The way she reasoned was nothing like the way she saw the world when she was a first year. Her memories stopped at that point but there were things, other things, Hermione could feel, even though she could not name them. She danced her eyes over some of the dotted flickers of light on the heaven's robe. Under the dome of this beauty, she wondered what kind of broken, tainted soul she possessed, to have deserved all the scorn and malice that had come to her now.


	3. Chapter 3: The Bracelet

Your support means a tremendous deal to me. I get so happy when I receive a notification for a message, comment, follow, fav or other. Here's another short update, half of what I meant to write, but I figured it might be better to share a bit now than mull over it. Still a few exciting things here - spiked hot chocolate, magical creatures, mysterious items, a prank, some thoughts from Hermione Analytical Mind Headquarters. Next chapter - time travel! Yes, we are finally getting there. Happy holidays to all!

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><p>The Fountain of Blessings<p>

Chapter 3: The Bracelet

_For most of us, there is only the unattended_

_Moment, the moment in and out of time,_

_The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,_

_The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning_

_Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply_

_That it is not heard at all, but you are the music_

_While the music lasts._

**TS Eliot**** - The Dry Salvages**

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><p>Minister Shacklebolt woke with a splitting headache that threatened to tear his head in half the very moment he opened his eyes. The strong light that greeted him signaled it was around noon.<p>

"Those blasted hot chocolates," he thought. "They must have been infused with a sleeping potion."

He sat up, stretched and tried and figure out exactly where he was. The window overlooked the grounds outside Hogwarts, so he was still inside the school. This chamber was well decorated, long bookcases were filled with well-cared for volumes everywhere he could see. It was obviously not a part of the Hospital wing, perhaps it was the private quarters of a professor or a part of the library he did not know. That's when he spotted the parchment on the mahogany table.

_Dear Kingsley,_

_Madam Pomfry thought it best you take a rest after everything yesterday. You started recounting tales of your youth, something about jinxed bludgers, and an elf conspiracy – you were so sure another invasion of sprites was coming, so we decided to help you shake it all off. The situation at hand has left us all puzzled but we need to consider our future steps with caution, not through the lens of paranoia. Call any of the house elves to take you to my office, should you require assistance._

_Minerva_

Kingsley Shacklebolt was many things. He was an assertive, emphatic, dedicated leader. He could be called a cunning opportunist, a bold former Auror who often ran on the wild side of adventure. But he was not a paranoid child. He tried to think back to the day before and all he had learned. The more he considered the present, the more convinced he became of what to do next.

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><p>"This is going to sting a bit at first." Madam Pomfry said as she presented a large copper bowl filled with a dark green liquid in front of Hermione. There was a misty steam oozing away from the container.<p>

The Gryffindor paused and looked at her image reflected in the watery surface before her. She took a deep breath and readied herself for whatever may come next. She had already endured a number of bizarre healing spells and enchantments today, so what other choice but to muster up some more courage. The girl slowly submerged her hands into the bowl. A ready army of bubbles came up, she felt her skin get shocked and immediately after she could swear something slimy passed under her palms. Just a second later, a small emerald-colored creature jumped from out of the bowl, arched from one edge to the other flying over her hands and dropped in the surface again. Hermione felt a tail glide over her fingers.

"What on Earth is this?"

"A knobberwockie. They're swamp sprites, distant cousin of merpeople. Quite smaller, as you see. Very intelligent beings, although we hardly understand their language. More friendly than most sentient water dwellers, they have a knack for healing skin. Fortunately for us, their social disposition is a great asset. Few other creatures are as willing to aid wizards."

"So what do they get out of this?"

"They have a refined taste for caramels and truffles." The healer pointed with her head to the side. A big back of sweets rested on a near-by desk. "Their other interests are fairly similar to any water-loving being."

Madam Pomfry had been doing this as much as she could. This being not finishing her thoughts, leaving things open-ended, filled with a slight challenged to Hermione to fill in the gaps. The older witch was doing this in hopes to spark up the Gryffindor's memory, or at the very least to see if her factual knowledge remained. Her analytical and creative thinking were certainly still very much present as Pomfry could see now. Hermione had started singing a child's lullaby, a song that instinctively came to her. Something she knew, something she could not have forgotten, perhaps something she had been lulled to sleep many years ago.

The knobberwockie splashed out from the bowl and stood on its two tiny feet right on the submerged knuckles. It curiosity was apparent. Sirens, mermaids, merpeople all agreed music was the most heavenly treasure. Hermione knew this, somehow. Madam Pomfry watched cautiously, with a small smile on her face.

The creature's eyes were like slits, barely noticeable, although Hermione certainly felt them on her. There was no malice. But there was a judgment, an assessment of sorts. She continued singing and when she reached the chorus, a beautiful and peaceful, melody, the slits tore open like huge windows. Pomfry gasped in shock but her reaction was invisible to Gryffindor girl. The student gazed into the now tremendously big eyes of knobberwockie. She had seen gold, but nothing as pure as this color. She sang the final lines and the small being in front of her knew the end was coming. As Hermione's voice slipped over the last words, the knobberwockie dived back into the bowl. It swam and encircled her left wrist again and again, stirring up a whirlpool.

The song now gone, a strange silence was looming. The water had stopped swooshing and Madam Pomfry could not utter a single syllable. The Healer gently took the bowl away, grabbed the chocolate treats and disappeared into her office. A few droplets teased off from the tops of Hermione's fingers and touched the floor. Then she saw it. A golden bracelet had been woven around her wrist. Intricate lines of carved dots adorned the edges of the ornament, patterns of intersecting triangles met in the middle, followed only by more dots, and all of it in gold, shimmering, magical gold.

"What is this?" Hermione held out her hand when she saw Pomfry walk back in.

She realized it as she kept her hand in the air. The scars remained, although some of the large ones had become smaller. Her skin was cold. She felt the coldness of the water, and reveled in it, and it was a most welcome sensation because it was the first feeling in her hands since she had woken up. The Gryffindor dangled her fingers and they moved slowly.

"It's a gift." The healer responded plainly, and took to examining her patient's hands. "A rare gift. For protection."

If the healer was going to say more, Hermione did not find out. She was quick to learn things hardly ever kept quiet at Hogwarts. Ruffles, the house elf whose face she had come to know from many visits over the past two day, popped in the Hospital ring, face flushed and anxious as ever.

"Madam Healer, Madam the Headmistress calls. A few students have enchanted the gargoyles by the entrance to vomit crackerjabbers, and the Great Hall is becoming flooded with them as we speak."

"Oh dear." The old woman sighed. This was not her first dealing with pranksters at the school. Her face revealed a solemn joy in having to resolve this problem. It had been quite some time since students had felt comfortable and safe enough to play pranks. This was welcome trouble.

"You'll excuse me now, Miss Granger."

Hermione's body ached from all the work it had been put through. The scars had healed but a remnant of the pain lurked untraceable to the eye, hidden beneath the surface. Yet this discomfort, this inner ache, was something the girl treasured. This physical sense of her own body, of the way her back pulled and stretched, how her legs refused to run, how her hands still trembled violently, was the only sure sense she had of herself and who she was. Beyond the certainty of her body, was whatever could lie beyond. Right now, she couldn't deal with the beyond. It held too many questions.

The student quickly decided that it was more important to try and understand the world around her than figure out who she was. It was clear to her that Professor McGonagall held her in high esteem, and that Madam Pomfry truly cared for her patients, even if she was a little stern at times. Hermione wondered why the house elves treated her with such great care. Some, like Ruffles, would come to visit her every hour on the hour. She was not entirely certain why that was. What puzzled her more was why any of her friends hadn't come to visit, to see how she was. Surely she had someone who cared… but did they know she was here? This was definitely something to ask the Healer witch when she returned. Was there anything else people were keeping away from her? She certainly felt like she was not told everything. And even what she was told sounded ludicrous at best. A battle with a Dark Lord, saving the magical world, dropping out of school to spend a year destroying enchanted objects? How did she get from Professor Flitwick's Wingardium Leviosa lesson to all of that mayhem Hermione could not figure out.

The more she struggled, the more she faced endless mist clouding her memories. Impenetrable clouds that did not let her move through. The past was a guarded, hidden passage.

Trying to find some comfort, Hermione thought to herself: If she really was this person, this loyal, intelligent, kind person everyone claimed she was, that would not be reason for shame, would it. She did feel there was more in her, to her, than the 11 year old girl whose last recollection was the face of an angry mountain troll in the girl's bathroom stall. But what was this thing? What was this more? If only she could have her wand back, if only she could do magic again, she reasoned, maybe she would know herself again.


End file.
